Myths & Magic: A Science Fiction and Fantasy Collection

by Kerry Adrienne

  “Give him half an hour. If he’s still there, let me know,” I said.

  “Half an hour?” My aunt followed me up the second floor where I wanted some peace and quiet.

  “He’s got a big coat and gloves on. I’m not parenting my customers or my protesters. If he’s still there, I’ll call that Detective Shelley who left her card, so she can come and talk to him. If we just call the cops, it’ll turn into a mess.” I flopped down in an overstuffed chair.

  One of the cats jumped in my lap and started purring. I needed the feline therapy.

  “I meditated on this last night. We must not bury our heads in the sand and hide.” My aunt took a brush to the other cat who flipped and rolled for more attention.

  “I talked to Uncle Vinny. He said we can’t move Ryan. The police might be watching us for anything unusual. I think we should act normal and not meddle.” I scratched my feline friend under the chin until she shook her head.

  “I understand that. But you can deliver that gift basket and speak to the O’Conners’ daughter. Maybe she can diffuse the situation. The twins have tracked down some of Mrs. O’Conner’s day, but more details from the daughter might help. And you can feel her out to see if she feels like her father or is more reasonable. If you did nothing wrong, you have nothing to be ashamed of or fear,” she said.

  “But we’re witches, and I don’t know about drawing attention to ourselves.” I looped my fingers with the cat’s tail until she turned around and head butted me.

  “Esmeralda insists we ignore this and stay out of it as much as possible. Let the humans sort out what happened. I agree, but that doesn’t mean we should be rude. She was a regular customer. A condolence gift basket is appropriate. I can take it over, if you prefer,” my aunt offered.

  That made me feel queasy. She was sweet and would never get us into trouble, but my aunt didn’t know how not to get involved. She couldn’t help herself. My aunt cared too much about everyone. People could take advantage of her because she’d trust them and help them. My uncle and I protected her from being taken in.

  “No, thanks. I don’t want to put anyone in the middle. I’ll handle it. Tomorrow. I can’t think about it today,” I said.

  “You were down there talking to Ryan for a while. Everything okay?” she asked with a smile.

  “Fine. We talked a bit about things. I wanted to try and find out if there was more to his story. He told me about his family and sister. He changed the subject, sort of, and I didn’t want to start a fight.” I shrugged.

  “Men. Vin won’t tell me the details of Ryan’s case more than what you know. He said it’s all hearsay because the police and mall witnesses don’t know what they were really looking at. They don’t know a werewolf or a vampire from a human. Things happen fast, and they see what they believe. Their brain makes sense of what doesn’t make sense. But if Ryan didn’t want to share, that’s unfortunate.”

  “He’s not my permanent problem. Once this is over, we can move him on. He can start over somewhere else. I can’t let it hurt the café or the coven.” I scratched the cat’s ears.

  “You truly believe Mrs. O’Conner died of natural causes?” Aunt Mandy asked.

  I’d never questioned it. “That’s the feeling I got from the police. Her age and health. If someone did harm her, it wasn’t us,” I said.

  Aunt Mandy nodded. “I agree, but nothing is for sure, yet.”

  I stood and went down the stairs enough to see Margaret.

  She shrugged. “He’s still there,” she said.

  I took out my phone and called the detective. I didn’t want to get the old guy in trouble, but I wasn’t going to have him die of frostbite or catch pneumonia from being stubborn.

  “You’re sure?” my aunt asked.

  “We don’t need more bad publicity. He’s bringing enough. If he gets sick or dies from exposure, I don’t want that on my conscience,” I said.

  “Detective Shelley,” the cop answered.

  Chapter 9

  I felt so human. Standing on the porch of Dana Stevens’ Cape Cod-style home, I was tempted to use magic to get me out of this problem. Dana was Mrs. O’Conner’s daughter, and I had the gift basket. That wasn’t the worst part. Mr. O’Conner protesting outside of my café in the bitter cold was the problem. The police had talked him home the other day, but he was back there this morning.

  I rang the doorbell as I made up a spell in my head. I could cast one on Mr. O’Conner to remove his anger or need for revenge. But the world had to have balance, so that anger would transfer somewhere else where it wasn’t deserved or didn’t belong. It’d be my fault. That would be a bad spell.

  A woman about forty years old answered the door. “Can I help you?”

  “Hi, I don’t know if you have a minute to talk. I’m Claudia Crestwood, owner of Witch’s Brew. I wanted to bring you this and tell you how sorry I am for your loss. We miss your mother’s daily visits.” I held out the basket in front of me, just in case she had some anger like her father.

  “I’m not sure you should be here,” she said.

  I frowned. “I’m not trying to cause trouble. I just wanted to talk to you. Your father is very upset, and I can’t seem to have a conversation with him. He’s going to get himself sick standing out in the cold, protesting my shop, and I don’t want that any more than you do.”

  “Come inside,” she said.

  We sat in a comfortable kitchen with white and blue checkered chair cushions, towels, and accents. It felt very country and sweet.

  “I’m very sorry about your mother, but if we had any idea she was ill, we’d have called for help. She was fine when she left,” I said.

  Dana held up a hand. “That’s not the issue.”

  “It’s not?” I asked.

  She set down two cups of coffee. “My mother had health issues. Her doctor believes it was natural. She went about her normal day, and there were plenty of people after you that spiked her blood pressure more than your little shop.”

  “I’m glad you understand. Your father is protesting outside the shop, and it’s hurting my business. I know that’s nothing compared to what you’re going through, but it’s not safe for him. The bitter cold and his age. We’ll keep calling the police for well checks on him,” I said.

  “I told him that’s crazy. He’ll give himself a heart attack. But he’s convinced someone did something to Mom. Her health was stable. She’d been diabetic most of her life, so she knew how to manage that. I think it must’ve been her heart or something just changed. But my father won’t consider that. He wanted to grow old with her.” She sipped her coffee.

  “I understand. He’s convinced someone hurt her. We were her first stop, and he probably heard her complain about us. Is there any way you could talk to him and make him understand?” I asked.

  She smiled. “I’ve tried. He knows she can be harsh and irritate people. But she’s worked at the library for years and been part of the garden club forever. She’s had the same friends all her life. Fights and getting over the fights. Ups and downs. You’re the new thing. Your shop is only a few years old. She liked the old diner that was there previously. She hated the coffee chains more than your café, but she did like trying all the different stuff without it being as pretentious.”

  “So, your father can’t blame her co-workers, friends, garden club, and so on. He probably is friends with the husbands of the garden club members. And friends’ husbands.”

  “They did a lot of couple things. And he likes going to the library. So, in his mind, it can’t be anyone there. Even though she’s made her share of enemies everywhere. I know she could be hard to please.” Dana rubbed her forehead.

  “I’m sorry; I’m not making this easier on you. I just wanted you to know that no one at our shop had any grudges against your mother. She tried all sorts of drinks, and the baristas liked that. They get bored with the same things every day. She had high standards, but that kept my people on their toes. She never said our place
wasn’t clean or stocked. That made me feel good.” I shrugged.

  “She was very hard to please. I wish they’d just do those tests and we could know. I know there is a backup. Life in a city. The morgue and medical examiner’s office are understaffed, I guess. But that’s the only thing my father will listen to. Someone in authority saying it was her heart or a stroke. Or someone else confessing they did something bad.” She frowned.

  “Was there any enemy she especially had a problem with lately?” I asked.

  Dana shook her head. “Most of the stuff is old. History that bubbles up when they disagree. But, really, I shouldn’t be talking to you while the investigation is still open.”

  She stood, and I did, as well.

  “Your father said the same thing, I don’t understand why. I think you believe me that we didn’t do anything to harm her,” I said.

  “There were some threats made. The police are investigating. I don’t know who did it or why, but it’s hard to ignore. It’s scary to hear them. I think you should go,” she said.

  “Threats against you?” I asked.

  She stared at me.

  “Against your mother since she died?” I asked.

  “I’m not supposed to talk to you or anyone about them,” she said.

  “Why would you let me in your house if you thought I had anything to do with it?” I pressed.

  She walked to the front door and opened it. “I wanted to hear your voice. See if it felt familiar.”

  “Does it?” I asked as I approached the door.

  “Please just go. I’ll speak to my father about risking his health outside in this cold. My mother wouldn’t want that. My son only has one grandparent left.” She was near tears. This really hadn’t gone as planned.

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” I stepped out onto the porch. “I won’t bother you, anymore. Please just know that no one hurt her at my café. And I certainly didn’t threaten anyone, just for the record.”

  She closed the door in my face.

  I climbed into my little green VW Bug and warmed up. That hadn’t gone at all like I’d hoped. But at least she didn’t believe we’d hurt her mother. There was a logical reason her father blamed us—anyone else would mean blaming a friend, and he couldn’t bring himself to do that.

  But threats against Mrs. O’Conner? The voice sample from Esme made sense, now. Her voice was deeper with a bit of raspiness to it. Mine was much higher. Maybe I didn’t sound like whoever had threatened them. Wouldn’t they disguise their voice? I texted Detective Shelley that I needed more information. Trying to smooth things over might be making things worse, somehow.

  * * *

  Sipping hot tea, I sat at the back table in the café and waited for the detective. Mr. O’Conner was still blustering outside to keep people out. Fred from the sandwich shop next door had tried to convince Mr. O’Conner to go home or at least have some soup. The old man was stubborn. Detective Shelley walked up to the door, and they exchanged a few words.

  Mr. O’Conner finally packed up and got into his car.

  The detective came in and headed right for my table.

  “Is that why you wanted to see me?” she asked and nodded toward Mr. O’Conner.

  “No, but thank you. The other shop owners have tried to talk sense into him or warm him up, but he doesn’t listen to anyone.” I gestured to the chair opposite me.

  “Want something to drink?” Ellen, one of our baristas, asked.

  “Large hot coffee, regular,” she said.

  “Refill, please. Thanks,” I said.

  “What was so urgent?” Shelley asked.

  “I tried to speak to Mr. O’Conner yesterday. He started talking but then said he shouldn’t be here, and we shouldn’t be talking. It seemed odd. Today, I went to see his daughter. Just to deliver a gift basket for condolence and talk about her father’s protest. His safety.”

  “It’s interfering with your business,” she said.

  Ellen dropped off the drinks.

  “Thanks, Ellen.” I nodded and took a sip.

  “Yes, fine. Mr. O’Conner is hurting my business and the other businesses in the area. I can handle it. Mrs. Stevens seems sure it was natural causes and her father is just grieving. But then, she said we shouldn’t be talking either. She mentioned threats. You took a voice sample from Esmeralda. I need to know the whole story,” I said.

  “The investigation is ongoing, but we’ve gotten far enough along. There were threats against Mrs. O’Conner after she’d made her insults to your shop and witches. Her husband got a phone call at home. The voice sounded female but also distorted. He let the machine get the rest of the calls that afternoon. It wasn’t Esmeralda, and no one thinks it’s you. There was a note left in the mailbox, as well. That’s part of why we can’t dismiss the idea that someone did do something to Mrs. O’Conner. Without the threats before her sudden death, there would be much less reason to put people on the case.” She was choosing her words very carefully.

  “I understand. She did threaten our witch theme and pagan ways. But more than a few people have made rude remarks. Especially if they don’t know the history of the city. Salem gets all the attention for the witch trials. It’s part of the history here, too, and brings in some tourists. People lash out when they’re having a bad day. I don’t take it personally.” I rolled my eyes.

  “Thank you for confirming that Mrs. O’Conner mentioned something about you being witches. I don’t believe you mentioned that, at first,” she said.

  I shrugged. “It didn’t seem relevant. No one has ever done anything more than a little protesting. We decorate for Christmas and Easter, as well as all the other major holidays. We’re not trying convert anyone.”

  “But someone took offense to her threats and made ones of their own. Were members of your coven here?” she asked.

  “Esmeralda. My aunt, but she couldn’t threaten a mouse in her kitchen. There might’ve been some customers. A couple of the staff are. I can give you a list, but I hate the idea of my coven being harassed. I can be sure of the staff that was here but not of all the customers. Plus, word travels.” I couldn’t believe someone would threaten a customer.

  “I understand. But it means someone heard about her threats and had a problem with her enough to make their own threats, and the woman was found dead the next day. You see, we have to investigate until the medical examiner comes back with cause of death. We did ask the family to keep their distance and not talk to you or anyone else about it. Tried to keep the threats a surprise piece of information, but Mr. O’Conner can’t seem to stay away.”

  “He’s upset. I just don’t want him to get frostbite or have a heart attack. He shouts at people and gets so worked up in the cold.” I shook my head. “I’m sure he loved his wife very much, but she wouldn’t want him to end up in the hospital.”

  “Thank you for calling me yesterday. The patrol car took him home. The officer had a talk with him. I called him later on. I’m not sure there is anything we can do short of arresting him to keep him from coming back. But if he’s there for more than an hour at a time, call, and we’ll have a patrol car take him home,” she said.

  “I will, and I’ll let every shift manager know, in case he tries protesting overnight. I hope he’s not that crazy. What a thing for your officers to do. Our tax dollars at work. Any idea how long before we get the information from the autopsy?” I asked.

  “Could be another week. The results will be accurate. They are short-staffed. And there were a lot of deaths over the holidays. More than normal need to be tested and autopsied. The tox screen should be soon.”

  “Odds are that’ll show nothing?” I asked.

  “Most likely. We talked to her family and searched her things. No sign of drugs or abusing alcohol. Someone would’ve had to slip her poison. But to time that so perfectly that it worked overnight? I think Mrs. O’Conner got what most of us want in a death. To go to sleep one night and just not wake up.” Detective Shelley smiled.
<
br />   “But she was only in her sixties. I’d like to make it to at least eighty before I didn’t wake up. She didn’t have cancer or any other disease that might’ve hastened things?” I asked.

  “Being Type 1 diabetic for as long as she was, it’s serious. We think of people living with diabetes all the time. So it’s not a death sentence, but it weakens the body and takes a toll. Type 2 can be cured and managed easier. Type 1 is rougher. I’ve had quite an education from her doctor and the ME. Mrs. O’Conner had some issues medically before. Her doctor wanted her to keep active but also rest and eat healthier. So, we’ll let you know when we find out about the results. And if we find out who threatened her, that would go a long way to removing suspicion from your café. If you could provide me with a list of coven members who frequent your café, that’d be helpful.” She nodded.

  “I’ll email it to you. I just can’t imagine any of them making threats to a regular customer over a bad morning. Mrs. O’Conner never would’ve done anything. I keep expecting her to come through the door.” I sipped my tea.

  “Well, now, you understand why this isn’t a closed case. I wish we could clear you and all your friends, but the threat specified witches. So, it sorts of shines a spotlight on your establishment. Thanks for the coffee. Send me that list by tonight, please.”

  Chapter 10

  That night, I called a coven meeting. Technically, I had Esmeralda send the email. Everyone assembled on the second floor at ten p.m. The café was quiet but still had some customers, so we moved into my locked room.

  “Did they get the results?” Ellen asked.

  I sighed. “No. The autopsy could be another week or so. Hopefully, we’ll hear about the toxicology screen tomorrow. That may or may not help. The reason that the investigation is focused on us and isn’t just standard procedure is that someone made threats against Mrs. O’Conner the day she died.”

  “What?” Aunt Mandy gasped.

  “Yes, after she left here but before she died. Her husband let their machine record most of them for the police. As she was leaving, Mrs. O’Conner did make some comments about us being witches and the name of the café. Well, someone called her home and made threats. Someone also left a note in the mailbox that was found the next day after she had passed away.” I looked around at the stunned faces.